How far we've come . . . and how I haven't really followed.

Randonneuring often becomes a hotbed of technological innovation and adaptation, despite being a niche segment of the larger bicycling population.  The distances we ride, the obstacles we face, and the amount of information we sometimes desire about the unknown areas through-which we travel tend to invite the latest, greatest and techi-est of gadgetry... for better or worse.

Yes, in my opinion sometimes for worse... I will not begrudge anyone for exploring the outer limits of what is technologically possible when it comes to bicycling long distances; however, there is something to be said about ye olde printed maps and situational awareness.  The undertone herein should be redundancy, and many folks I ride with already adopt this method.  While GPS is terrific, while generator hubs, power converters and chargers, jump batteries, LTE tower coverage and other niceties have indeed come a LONG way, just in the last three years, always - always - keep a printed copy of a paper map of your route, and a print-out of the cue sheet safe and sealed in a water-tight bag of some kind.  Even if it remains deeply stuffed into a saddle bag or repair kit, never to be seen, you still have it if you need it.

OK,  the above personalised disclaimer aside - I often marvel in amazement (and, yes, frustration about that which I cannot afford at the moment) at the constant flow of technological wizardry thrust forth for cyclists to absorb.  The engineering opportunities to solve specific problems are as old as bicycling itself.  I have been riding long enough to have witnessed the beginnings of what we enjoy today, and it's staggering how quickly some of these marvels have emerged.  Generator lighting, well --- that's been around the block more than a few times.  My father's '68 Schwinn Varsity, with Schwinn-Approved tire-driven generator is testament to that, and any quick web search of 1950's Euro-rando will show earlier iterations... surely, the design goes back even further; and I'm quite certain evidence exists of oil-lanterns affixed to turn-of-the-last-century boneshakers.  Sundown has often been a barrier to adventure, and bicyclists have been lighting their way for the better part of a century, certainly ... but, the efficiency... the power... the last 10 years have seen a watershed movement in LED lighting, generator efficiency, and the harnessing of power.  It's remarkable; almost amazing:  

I pull my father's bicycle down from the rafters, engage the tire roller of the bottle generator, and give the wheel a purposeful spin... and nothing.  Nothing but a quick "whirrr" and the wheel comes to a halt.  Even in a darkened garage, one would swear this 60-year-old relic of filament wire and heavy magnets was long broken, as not even a hint of electricity makes itself seen across the tungsten deep inside the thick glass light bulb.  But, mounting the bicycle and rolling down the street - though one would swear the brakes had been dragging - the eager, yellowish light of the sealed beam arcs to life once enough speed is generated.  Six volts... three watts... but, oh, OH so narrow, dim, and wavering is the beam lighting my way.  At one point, this was the state-of-the-art.   

Returning to the garage, I pull down the Kogswell - the generator hub consequently set into motion simply from the slight rub of tire against ceiling hook as I lower the bicycle to the ground for a comparison.  There's no need.  Just the gentle, 2 or 3 mph equivalent spin of the front wheel as I move it through the air is enough to emit a couple of startling pulses from the LED headlight and taillight.  A gentle spin of the elevated front wheel, and both lights leap into life, illuminating the entire inside of the garage for a few moments in a combination blue-red glow.  Amazing.  The night, for many years now, isn't something for which to be prepared... not something through-which to "survive" until dawn, but instead something to look forward to... a chance to play.  

I've been riding long enough to have witnessed this rapid march forward, to the point where bicycle generators produce power-to-spare at efficiency levels that few cyclists would even register while rolling along the open road.  I've regaled many a-rider with this personal tale, and I'll echo it here, again:   Back in roughly 1999-2000, when I first began actively riding my bicycle to and from work, I didn't use a front light.  For a long time, I didn't bother using a taillight.  At that time, the ubiquitous red LED taillight we all take for granted today was still in its infancy.  Peter White Cycles, my source for the latest and greatest in generator lighting in the US, had only recently emerged on the World Wide Web as a seller of generator systems, but many of the taillights still used halogen bulbs behind red lenses.  The first LED taillights - not even mentioning headlights - were battery hogs & costly.  I once had an early Cateye offering (them, for me, representing the most-trusted name in bicycle electronics) that ran on two AAA batteries, with a run-time of 5 hours... on flashing mode.  I mean, wow. 

This is a shot of the complete NiteRider Flamethrower HID headlight kit, with the aforementioned water-bottle sized 13v battery.  This boasted a run time of 6 hours... which, is still 4 hours short of the shortest summer night we'd get at my latitude.  That was, of course, provided you didn't hit a bump too hard and destroy the metal-halide capsule.  It retailed, originally, for over $700 and weighed about a kilogram.  You can still get a replacement battery, however.... for $159.99.  Really.  The last handlebar-mounted self-contained LED headlight I bought last year was under $100, runs for 10 hours on its highest setting, and is light enough to sit on a helmet without causing any issues.  We've come a long long way, baby.

Headlights?  Puh-leez.  Unless you were a racer, or just had money to burn, real headlights were out of reach for most folks... at least, the circles I ran in had it seem that way.  Most early efforts were effective, but required heavy batteries that would occupy an entire bottle cage - and would still only run for a few hours at most.  I originally purchased, from Peter White actually, Cateye's Micro Halogen headlight, a small miracle with a very tiny halogen bulb (like the Maglite flashlights used) and a great reflector design.  This little light, which was a great price, small, portable, and ran on normal AA batteries, was a game changer for me.  A lot of rando guys used to run these, even though they only would last for maybe 4 hours on a set of 4 AA cells.... in the days before AA rechargables were really affordable or effective yet.  I know, personally, my short commutes would result in needing a new pack of AAs every week.  

Still, this was a GREAT light... today, with generator hubs and super-efficient bottle generators, lights like this are all but obsolete... despite, honestly, still being effective and producing light you can ride with.

Fast forward to today, LED generator-powered headlights are throwing more light on the road than quality LED battery headlights were capable of only a few years ago.  The technology is advancing so quickly, I'm not even going to put any statistics here in print... they'd be out of date by the time you'd read them.

Why am I going into all this?   Hell, I dunno.

Hey, a radio!

Oh yeah.... THAT'S what I was gonna talk about . . . 

They got it right, kept it right, and we can still buy them!

Nothing, and I'd be willing to debate this, empowered people and nations of people moreso than the transistor radio.  Yes... the newspaper was effectively "first" when it comes to the dissemination of information, but, I would offer that literacy has often been outpaced by the written word, sadly.  While newspapers and such were "the source", it wasn't until the literacy barrier was broken by the return of the spoken word... and, by return think back to your barkers, your town heralds of old, shouting out a King's proclamation, or announcing noteworthy happenings in the town squares of centuries-past.  The RADIO brought this back, and the portable transistor radio brought it out of the living room and onto the streets, and to the masses.  

Now, still, this isn't what I'm on about... not yet... 

Music is not "news"... but, somewhere along the lines, just in the last decade or so, music's portability has taken the place of the radio's portability.  Granted, there is nothing sadder in my opinion as a music lover than the state of modern commercial radio in a post-MP3 world.  THAT aside, the "DJ" (even if it's a big corporate computer on "shuffle") is far better, far more sustainable, far more listenable than one's own collection of digital files on repeat.  Where once we simply turned a knob, and with that satisfying, mechanical "click", a steady stream of continuous music, talk, chat, advert, noise...  well, now, we are reduced to being our own "DJ", curating and collecting our own files and downloading them onto innocuous little MP3 cubes and sticks and gadgets for our entertainment.  Long live the American radio disc jockey, say I.  Radio is not only relevant, still, it's the future.  The concept of "radio" is not only evident on nearly every formerly-music-marketplace-only service like iTunes and Google Play, it's evident across every traditional broadcast's webpage... the streaming option.  Yeah, that's still "broadcasting" in the dictionary sense... but, over-the-airwaves radio?  Yes... it still very much has its place.  The ballgame, the newstalk or call-in radio show... the original "social media".  Long may it reign...   

no, really, are you going to talk about something - or is this post completely random??

Hey, I'll get to it...!

While I do ride with one of those (above) little miracles, with one less earbud attached than shown, ... I've had less and less time to do what the music industry used to do FOR us, and that's come up with interesting playlists that I won't grow tired of during long, long bike rides.  Granted, the last few trips out on the bike, I haven't needed tunes at ALL, which is a good thing -- but, for the mental excuse eliminator, for me, nothing quite tops music when it comes to just keeping the ole negativity at-bay and maintaining a good pedaling cadence.  Sometimes, I need it.  But, do I have to work so hard for it?

Last season, I became enamored with radio once more while riding alongside Steven W. during the Iowa 400k.  The KC Royals were marching onward toward another great season of baseball, and while the sun began to set on a lonely and quiet stretch of highway, Steven's radio was switched on to invite the soothing play-by-play tones of Denny Matthews along for our bike ride.  The hours FLEW past as the Royals played ball, and the trio of me, Steven and Josh ate up the long miles of road back to Liberty, MO.  

Man, why don't I do that more often???

Further, there was nothing to think about, no skip or replay buttons, no decisions to make... just "click"... and boom, radio.  

Simple.  Sustainable.

Hell, even if I couldn't care for the song being played or the topic being discussed, that's what the tuning dial is for, right?  No matter what, it's better - FAR better - than becoming mired in one's own thoughts of dread and "what if" when the ride might enter a dip in emotion.  It happens.  

Roughly twice the height of the average MP3 player, the tiny AM/FM radio is alive and well in the marketplace.  I've opted for the little Sony gem on the left from the shot above, pulled from a backpacking website.  The Sangean has a few more features, like digital tuning and presets, but, the sheer size and simplicity of the Sony proved more attractive to me.  I can't wait to lend an ear to whatever I happen to across the dial when I commute and rando this year.  Running on a single AAA battery, I don't even have to worry about carrying along a charging cable for my MP3 player anymore - nor do I have to spend the random hour here and there updating my playlists... again...  In those two regards, this little radio is already saving me time and hassle.  Just pop it into the rando-bag, and go.  What a concept!

Yeah, this post is pretty darn random, maybe; but, my point is specific.  Keep things SIMPLE, above all else.  GPS, smartphone apps, fancy multi-function watches that are all the rage nowadays; don't get me wrong - I *love* technology.  I love the technology that have some to the bike, but, I caution everyone I talk to on the subject... keep it simple.  There is a time and a place, and sometimes I'm not sure long distance bicycling is "the place" for some of these innovations.  That's probably just me exercising the survivalist rant inside, as many a GPS user I know has enjoyed countless 200 and 300k rides without a single incident.  But, keep that paper map.  Tuck it away.  I know at least one or two riders I frequently join on adventures who do this - and, while I've never had to watch them pull out that map or cue sheet, it's there.  Just in case.  Like those self-adhesive tire boots I bought ten years ago and have never had to use... they're not there to play with, they are there just in case.  Give me a good, solar-powered analog wrist-watch and a printed cue, and I'm good to go, however.  I don't have to upload anything, cross-check anything, wonder, worry, or fuss.  I don't have to charge it up, sync it up, or load it up.  My printed map won't suddenly change from central Missouri, to the central Atlantic Ocean, and paper doesn't ever ever need to reboot.  My little AM/FM wonder, yes, will occasionally need a new battery... after a month or so of sporadic use... but, those batteries are sold ... and dare I use this term... EVERYWHERE.  Granted, there is an AC outlet everywhere, too... but, when my device drops dead, not only is it not a ride-stopper, I don't have to remain lashed to a wall while my power source is replenished.  I pop in a new cell, and leave.  

Feel free to tear these arguments apart when you consider solar trickle chargers, jump-batteries (power banks, whatever you wanna call 'em), and - bada-bing - generator-powered charging systems... which are now widely available for around $75.  Yeah, yeah... I know... my old, knuckle-dragging ways are holding less and less water with each passing month of technological advancement, I'll grant you that.  I'm okay with it, really I am, and - my final assessment is "to each his own".  For me?  It's not about the money, or the perceived hassles (of which there are only a few, honestly).  For me, it's just simpler... like a steel framed bicycle.  Yeah, materials have come a long way, and anything can ride like anything you want it to... even aluminum... but, I just choose cheaper, more honest, simpler materials.  I like it this way.  I have enough gadgets at work... maybe consider, bicycling is my time to get the heck away from that stuff, eh?  When I'm nose-deep in a good, scenic 400km ride, I don't give a rat's backside what "KML" even stands for.    

I want my navigation, my bicycles, my baggage, my electronics, my inner-tubes and my entertainment the same way, thank you.  Thank you very, very much.  

See you out there . . . 


ADDENDUM:  added 2/15/2016

An offline conversation resulted in some valid thoughts and concerns on this subject, so I felt it appropriate to add a few lines here to accompany my original thoughts above:

Music on the bike.... safe?
We started talking about the use of Bluetooth speakers on the handlebars, and generally - open-air speakers versus earbuds, and the safety concerns therein.  So, it must be noted;

Quite often, I use music as a treat for the last ten miles or so on a brevet, and generally that's been the case.  On winter brevets, I've been known to use it after reaching the halfway point.  On longer rides, when traffic dies down and the thoughts wander, I'll pull out the tunes at sundown.  I don't "need" it as often as I used to, that's for sure.  We talked about focusing on other things, too, like finding something interesting to snap in a photograph, focusing on cadence, and other distractions.  Yup, I do that, too.  Sometimes, though, when my mood dips, it's only music that can get me through.  It tends to occupy the part of my brain usually consumed with quitting or complaining, so it defuses a lot of potential problems.  When the dip passes, I usually turn it off and put it away.

In-ear, vs. Speakers:  yeah, I've used both, and I go back to a single earbud in my right ear, every time.  One, it uses less power:  where I usually need to turn an ambient speaker volume pretty high to overcome wind noise and their inherent omni-directional design, I end up creating noise pollution.  I often hear this evidenced on the bike trail, where I can hear an oncoming radio perhaps 30 feet before actually passing the cyclist it belongs to.  I don't feel this is people being obnoxious, I feel this is consequential:  When I turn on my speaker and ride down the road, I have to keep adjusting volume upwards until I can barely hear it... Then I'll stop, dismount, and walk away from the bike... and I can hear the radio sometimes 25 feet away from the speaker itself.  With the single earbud, this doesn't happen.  Since I often like to enjoy the bike trail for the nature sounds and solitude, I can't run an open-air speaker in good conscience because I'm likely ruining it for other trail users.  In the case of the Royals game on the 400k with Steven and Josh, I had to stay pretty close to Steven to hear the radio - but, we were also miles from anyone on a stretch of highway a few dozen miles between towns, so noise pollution isn't as much of a concern when using a speaker.  We probably make more noise just talking and laughing.... and FAR less than any passing cars or trucks.  Regardless, the power requirements to drive a speaker are very high compared to an earbud; I can run a radio for days with an earbud on low volume, but a speaker will only last for a few hours.

Safety?  The single earbud - decidedly NOT the "in-ear" or "plug" design, and no-freaking-way-EVER anything with the term "noise cancelling" in the name - doesn't block any ambient noise, because I keep the volume low enough that I can't hear my music when a car passes me.  The same holds true if I'm riding into a headwind:  I also can't hear the music, by design.  By following those guidelines for volume, my ears maintain focus on my surroundings and the music is where it belongs - in the back drop.  I can hear the music fine when the road is quiet and traffic drops, but, I'm specifically looking for the mental distraction, not a fully immersive audio experience.  If I find myself complaining about not being able to hear my music because there's too much traffic, um...duh, dude, maybe I ought to be paying attention then?!?  I do this on purpose, so I don't get isolated from my surroundings too much, mentally drift too far astray, or miss a car approaching from any direction.  Heck, what if I sail past a turn and my fellow riders are trying to shout at me to get me back on course?  Thus, another good guideline, I need to be able to hold a conversation with my fellow cyclists, while rolling, without needing to pause the music. 

Finally, I take none of this lightly: It took me a LONG time, personally, to be okay with myself "caving in" and allowing an earbud in my ear AT ALL during a bike ride... I felt like it was mentally cheating, somehow impure, and I definitely became even more paranoid.  This is partly why I never agreed with that whole "anti-helmet" notion that helmets actually result in MORE injuries, on the notion that because I'm wearing a helmet I'll suddenly start riding in an UNSAFE manner, because "my helmet will save me."  Baloney.  Normal, thinking individuals simply don't behave this way.  I don't think for a second that wearing an earbud means that I *think* I'm enough of a bad-ass cyclist to get away with it, or that the rules don't apply to me somehow... I take this coffee with a LOT of salt, people.  Ride scared.  If you wear a helmet so you can do stupider stuff, and ride with full, studio-can headphones at full volume, you're not a "cyclist" in my opinion, and Darwin has an award application for you to fill out.

By contrast to my own behavior, I've ridden past cyclists wearing two earbuds with their volume such that *I* can hear elements of *their* music when I pass them on the trail:  that is TOO loud, and situationally dangerous... because they also, consistently, tend to be surprised or startled when I pass them.  The human senses work as a team, and assuming that ones eyes will catch everything one might need to be concerned with while cycling, or jogging, or walking, is a fools game.  I'm not professing anything like "I've got this figured out" or that I'm somehow better than "X"... no.  I'm responsible for me, not you.  Your mileage may vary, and I may get hit by a bus tomorrow.  So be it.  Sometimes I need my tunes.

Stay safe out there, folks - above all else!

Changes in Focus

  It's already been an interesting year, despite only being a few weeks old now.  I've taken some long overdue inventory and have managed to get back into the gym and have finally taken to a more serious diet plan, since someone hoisted yet another workplace weight-loss challenge.  The timing couldn't have been better, as getting and staying focused hasn't been easy... nor have I been terribly motivated to do so.  I've taken, again, to the horrible habit of packing for the morning ride to work, only to cave to the perceived safety and warmth of the car.  I've maintained a pretty solid streak of trips to the gym lately, but without it being paired to a consistent diet, well, you can imagine the results.  

Guest Post: Dirty Kanza Inspiration

   Surely as the registration window opened - and, as it turns out, quickly closed - the adjacent forums and email lists, silent for months, began to buzz with proclamations of new goals, aspirations, and stories from years past.  What for, one might ask?   Isn't it just a ride?  Video, blog-post, photos have come close while in concert with one another; yet, short of the actual experience ... which, I still do not have (at this writing) ...no amount of words or photos can truly convey what I'm on about here, what I've only yet witnessed from the seat of the support car.  I have so much to say, though none of it adequate.

   As the Dirty Kanza "registration weekend" closes out and we all return to work for another dreary Monday, there's little doubt as to the nature of our daydreams.  Conference calls, mundanity, and chilly weather.. who could be blamed for thinking ahead to June, for planning, and for dreaming?  

Milepost 1445

Finally, I think some form of "winter" is upon us here in KC... Thankgawd. I thought I was never gonna get a chance to use the studs this year. Trail time!

From Instagram via IFTTT & Twitter (@rusadude)

The Paths of Least Resistance

It's all over the internet, and I don't know if it's urban legend or just a good architectural parable; but when I first heard it recounted by my lifelong friend, the Crowbar, it stuck firmly in my head ... especially when visiting a locale which has clearly never heard of it.

I've enjoyed this analogy in the past when trying to relate design philosophy to folks at work, especially:
  I can't recall the name of the college campus, but, the story goes that the buildings were all originally built with NO pathways between them; just open grass between the parking lots and each dorm and/or classroom or lecture hall.  Over the first year of operation, the students and teachers would do what anyone would do in an undefined space:  they walked to and from each building along the shortest route, or the routes that made the most sense - diagonals, curving around terrain, etc.  After this first year, the trodden pathways across each of the grass areas took shape.  Only then did the design team return to lay down the paved walkways, using the exact routes that had been worn into the grass.  Those who newly attended in the years afterwards would consistently comment on the genius and efficiency the layout of the campus provided, and how fast and easy navigation became compared to the usual array of 90° angles and grid-style walkways-to-nowhere.

  I always look for this echoed in ride behavior; if riders are always hitting a control and then rapidly leaving for "whatever" on the other side of town, it's a chance to consider a positive change.  When designing routes, try to keep this in mind.  Not only will it likely prevent you from worrying about shortcuts, it will provide the sort of natural flow which riders will naturally be drawn to follow; which presents fewer opportunities for anyone to become lost.  At least, that's the hope... and, ultimately it's just my opinion, and definitely not a criticism of others.

Here in the KC area, the grid system reigns... other cities once visited, while initially conveying to a "grid veteran" a sense of confusion and poor design, they ultimately reveal the same patterns one would naturally take if no roads had been in place:  the roads go almost directly to wherever it is they are headed, instead of drawing squares around them and boxing everything in.  Dallas and its surroundings, for example - an area I've bashed in the past, yet has one of the most active and successful randonneuring scenes in the world - if you're in Waco and you want to head to Tyler, the roads to get there create a straight-shot, almost the same route one would take in an airplane.  Two similarly spaced towns in KC, one follows roads along a strict staircase of 90° turns; one has to get creative and make their own diagonal path.  Now, in neither area would one put a good rando route on the exact roads most cars would be using, but many of the old farm roads follow the same rules as the main roads in each respective area, too.  It's interesting, traveling from place to place, discovering how a region has been navigated over time.  I'm not saying KC is somehow doomed because of the old farm section road plan, but only that one need venture farther afield to get to the good stuff.

True, this doesn't work everywhere.  Near rivers, mountains and railroad lines, however, the natural flow and sense of destination the direct, curvy roads often invoke also make for some of the best bicycling experiences.  The low resistance of the old country road, county highway, or original U.S. route system are all great examples.  The way original railroad alignments arc gently across huge expanses of prairie - no wonder rail trails, or highways alongside them, are so popular!   No wonder the Flint Hills 225km route creates such a strong mental picture once one has ridden it.  Powerful stuff.

While I'd often sought out routes beginning close to home for my own convenience, now I've begun to look outward to the places still small enough to evidence the long, open stretches of long distance cycling perfection.  I can't wait to spread out and ride some new territory next spring, and explore that flow.  It's sorta like lightning during a thunderstorm:  the path of least resistance doesn't seem to have a pattern or purpose at all ... but, it's undeniably beautiful, powerful, and intriguing.  Those are the roads for me.  As I take pen to map once again this winter looking for the next great route, all of this flurries around in my head - and then I look out the window, and dream of these faraway roads traced only as thin gray and blue lines.  I slowly drag the pencil across the page from one town to the next and see the long, flowing printed lines underneath... There.  That one.
Let's ride that one...
And it begins.

Stay rando, my friends.

Guest Post: There ARE still good people out there!

Every once in a while a story comes across the forums that captures my imagination, reinforces a core belief or introduces a new way of looking at things for all of us riders "out there" on the gravel, pavement, trails, or paths.  This time, a local rider who has taken part in a handful of rides on my routes and joined me for the Hard Cider trial run earlier this year, John M., took to email to recount details of a recent and seemingly unlikely experience while out on the roads of Eastern Kansas... thanks, John!

Enjoy!  

From John M., October 14th, 2015

There ARE good people out there!

Last month I needed a 200K and wanted to do my last long ride before RAID (Ride/Race Across Iowa in a Day).  As I do too often I waited until the last weekend of the month to ride my 200K.  Sunday morning, dark and early, I headed off to ride the Free-State Border Patrol 200K (route #386).

Prior to the ride I had asked, and was approved, to ride some bonus miles during the 200+km permanent.  Permission was granted based on me both staying under the time limit and exiting/returning to the course at the same location.  

It was cooler that morning when I'd left home, and I'd thought about adding a bag to my bike to store extra layers.  Ultimately I decided I could just put my arm warmers, cap and vest in my jersey pockets.  I rode my gravel-ready Salsa Fargo, and after checking in at the Pleasanton control I headed off course and rode some good bonus gravel miles.  At my furthest point south, I stopped near Prescott and took off the last of my cool-weather gear, repacked my pockets and proceeded to head back north.  I re-entered the course in Pleasanton and began the ride on toward La Cygne.

When I got to the Casey’s Control in La Cygne. I grabbed some pizza, a cold bottle of Gatorade and all the usual stuff.  Piling it all on the counter, I reached into my pockets for money.  What a surprise and shock it was to find I had NONE!  No Money, No Route Card, No receipts, NO ID, No Credit card.  The Ziploc bag which contained all of that important stuff was gone!  Fortunately the good people at Casey’s helped me out and took good care of me.  But I still had NO money, Nothing!

I left the Casey's befuddled about my lost card and cash.  Without that route card my ride wouldn’t officially count.  Without my cash it might make it a bit harder to ride home.  I thought to myself, I knew I had everything at the farthest south turn-around.   Trying to think back, I'd thought I’d maybe reached back into my pockets, maybe once, only about 10 miles back from LaCygne.  I'd convinced myself I must had lost that bag at that point!  Resolve bolstered, I decided to ride my route backwards and find my stuff before riding back home. 

I had to save my 200K!

Unfortunately, I never found my Ziploc, and, finally I had to abort looking and head home.  Empty handed.  By then I'd assumed my stuff was blowing who-knows-where on the wind, never to be seen again!

I rode back to LaCygne and remained on course back to Olathe... not that sticking to the course matter much at that point.  When I ride the Fargo on that loop I don't normally need to stop after LaCygne... but, that's mainly because when I know I have case, I know I can stop anytime I need to and get anything I want. 

Of course, when I don't have any money all I can think about is all the stuff I want but can't have!  It made for a long ride home!  ...forget the fact I'd blown my September 200K!  Sure, I had a good 200 mile training ride, but I was not a happy camper!

Since this had all happened on a Sunday, I elected to officially get my 200K in by taking off early on Tuesday afternoon and departing for a 3:30pm start.  I enjoyed a nice evening ride, well past my normal bed time... but I got my September 200K on the books!    whew

Lessons learned:
- Don't wait till the end of the month to ride your 200K!  (If it hadn't been for a cancelled customer meeting I would have been out of town and would have lost my hard-earned R-12 in the process.)
- Don't keep all your eggs in one Ziploc!
- Pay attention to your stuff!

Keep the important stuff in a zipped pocket, in the seat-bag, or otherwise stashed away ... ANYwhere other than back pockets that you might be getting in and out of all day.  Just pulling out a cue sheet or a snack might seem easy enough, but you can never know if something stuck to it, or if a gloved-hand accidentally grabbed onto something else in the process.



I thought that was the end of this story. . . 


. . . but, there are actually Good People out there!

First the Good Folks at Casey’s gave me anything I'd needed, as I stood at the counter emptying my pockets all over the place.  There I stood, not a penny in hand!  Yet, they still helped me!  This is the payback of always being polite and appreciative of our hosts along the route.... yes, even if they have no idea what they're hosting.  The attitude we put out there could pay us back someday!

A bit later, life going on as usual, I arrive home from a week of being out of town.  My wife does a great job while I'm gone, taking care of many things!  One of them, of course, being the mail.  She takes care of the important mail, gets rid of the junk mail, sorts the work stuff and leaves me the few fun/personal items I occasionally get.  Upon examining this, and to my surprise and amazement, I have waiting for me a nice hand-written note, my route card, cash, credit card, ID and receipts...  everything I lost on that Sunday ride!

This Great American found my Ziploc while walking along a gravel road not far from his home.  He'd not only found it, but took the time to write me a note and mail all my stuff back to me!  Yes, indeed, there really are GREAT People out there!

God Bless this Country and all the Good People that make it Great!


John Mathias
Olathe, KS

Keep 'em rollin'!   Yeah, that's not John... but, hey, every post needs at least one photo.

What's love got to do with it?

Well, everything really. 

Even though it took the better part of three weeks to finalize and post, the last ride report and update was a fun one to put together... But, relating things in type is time consuming.  I love doing it... Therefore, it's not a chore.

For some reason over the summer, riding to and from work became "hard", and I have just recently crawled back out of the cellar once again to regain my love for the simple act of riding.  The love there sometimes fades, and I'm not sure why.  I go into these phases where I start to tinker and tweak and build... And the love moves from the the activity to the objects used in the activity.  It's seems now that I'm back to the actual riding again, which is cool... And just in time for it to be cooler, season-wise. 

Leaves are back on the trails, squirrels are everywhere... yikes, there's one now ...and the longer nights are creeping in on both sides of the workday.  Maybe it's the solitude of night riding that really does it for me.  The lack of traffic, the bugs and frogs singing, the stars out... The gentle cast of a lone headlight beam on pavement, the distant moan of a freight train, and how you can suddenly hear cars approaching from miles away.  They see us, and we see them... And all is right.  Just now, typing this, I've watched two pair of evening cyclists silently making their way down the neighborhood streets, taillights glowing confidently, headlights painting their way forward as they dance along, drifting silently into the orange haze of overhead streetlights and disappearing again, over and over as they fade into the distance.  I love seeing that, and being that.  A more ambitious version of me would have already scheduled a dark side ride by now.... a less occupied version of me.  Those days will come again - right now, I love being a Dad far more.  But, an overnight 200k?  Yeah, I'm tired of stuff getting in the way, and chilly as it might be; well, I may yet grab October.

I love a good streak, but, apparently I've been afraid.  I don't know WHY or of what I am afraid, but, there it is.   I plan, I pack, I ponder, and I pack it in.  Again.  The excuses ever more elaborate, ever thinner.  I'm too cautious, too afraid to screw up at work, too afraid to let on that maybe the love is gone from long distance riding.  Is it?  No.  I honestly don't think so, because I keep thinking about it, gazing longingly into the illusion of depth and space captured in desktop background photos from PBP and local rides from the past.  Camping, brevets, often in deplorable conditions - and yet there we are, smiling.  There I am, smiling.  Have I become so cautious that I'm shying away from the adversity that has defined me as a person?  Why do I assume it's going to be horrible?  Why am I negative?  Is it loss of love? 

Does love have anything to do with it?

June, July and August all saw really awesome brevets and permanent, but, stuff changed... And change, for me, has often proved crippling.  Unsure, confidence shaken; despite being a part of a massive opportunity at work which has seen me thrust into the field of work I'd longed to take part in, there is nothing negative about Any of it.  Stress is lower, I'm sleeping better, and hopefully financials will change for the better so I can maybe relax for once.  But, it's still change.  Altered routines, new surroundings, new coworkers, new systems, new new new... During times where I should be hanging onto the things which remain familiar in my life, I instead panic and abandon them.  The three month streak resets, the rides to work cease... And the hole magnifies.  Now, weeks later, I am at last feeling settled.  While I would have liked to say that I triumphed and grabbed September at the 11th-hour with a good friend on an epic overnight ride, I panicked and dropped the ball.  All this while, still learning how to live better in my own head, there are still bumps and curves to negotiate.  October is growing long, and the question comes again... Do I want it badly enough?

Do I want I badly enough to get out there on my own?  I tell you, motivating myself in the wake of change has been tough.  I set a date, but, schedules are constantly out of alignment - the magic of the last couple years of almost being guaranteed a ride partner for the monthly 200k are gone, and stirring up the gumption to get myself out there has been tough.  This isn't guilt on anyone, just a personal observation; as my first ever R-12 took place almost exclusively solo, it took me a while to actually become cozy riding WITH other people.  Now, it's circled entirely the other way.  Do I still love it enough to get out there and grab a tough month like February solo again?  I can envision it... But, I remember positive visions of September, too... And it wasn't enough to avoid clamping onto the first excuse that came along to cancel... And I wasn't going to be solo that night.  What, precisely, is my issue?  Yeesh...

Lament no further.  As I have awoken now, apparently, I rise earlier, I dress faster, and I have taken to the intended fall season act of "JRA": just riding along.  I did so Monday, riding to mail a letter at the post office in Spring Hill, which is 12-15 miles away, depending.  I rode gravel and watched a few passing trains.  I watched the railroad crews working on the new second mainline running along US-169 highway.  I took a MMR "road" deep into the middle of nowhere and stopped in the middle of a giant field to connect with nature...just me, the sun, the wind... just "being".  I've taken sunrise photos, watch deer drop their guard and become at ease with my presence; just three animals near a winding creek enjoying the peace of a new morning.
 

It's been a while, but, the love is returning, and it feels great.  Cycling is a relationship between man and machine, and sometimes it wanes... But it never dies.  Yeah, its just a "thing", an activity, or exercise... But, its also a vehicle that takes me to places and states of mind that help me become who I'm supposed to be. 

What's not to love about that?

Summertime

August?  September?   .... man, this summer has completely gotten away from me, utterly and completely.  I'll tell ya, my streak which started in June is over.  I'm okay, and it's not the end of the world, but, wow... the month slipped out of my hands like a stick of butter on a hot day in Alabama.  LORDY-my!

So, a clean slate, and today is October 1st... for ME, personally, the first day of Fall.  Nature was right on schedule this AM, greeting me with 46ºF on the mercury, and northern breezes.  Sweet!  Long pants, long sleeves, ears covered... maybe a bit much, but, hey... last week, today's HIGH forecast is cooler than the LOW had been.  That's a bit outside the normal 20-degree swing that most folks can handle without it feeling especially cold/hot.  Great morning for a commute... birds, some deer, and practically no dog walkers or joggers.  Ahhh... nice!

Back on August 24th, a Monday, a few of us local KC boys headed out onto the (ye olde?) Border Patrol route.  Terry B. came down from St. Joseph, Gary D. rode to the ride from near State Line, Josh came in from Lees Summit, and then little old me, performing the gargantuan task of riding to the ride from about 3/4th of a mile away.  Don't hurt yourself, dude.

A quick couple of activities inside, and the ride was ON... nothing new to report here, except for what happened almost precisely 45 seconds into the day.

Under the otherworldly orange glow of sodium vapor incandescence, the grim grey of pavement became broken as a lone shadow upon a bicycle burst forth from the shadows of a side street, ran his stop-sign, and merged directly into my line.  It was close enough, unexpected enough, a touch of brakes came almost involuntarily, and behind it frustration at my own reaction.  

"..what the....," came near involuntary, too, as I took in the view ahead, this specter of the pre-dawn road; helmet-less, sneakers, t-shirt, baggy gym shorts, road bicycle of indeterminate make, model or vintage, and nothing more to mark his existence than the rhythmic oscillation of amber pedal reflectors this person proceeded to raise his pace in an effort to outrun my shout of protest against his scoff-law ninja-biking.  

"yeah, that isn't gonna work, pal," I muttered while reaching down to grab the next gear in my cluster to give chase.  Things like bicycle, clothing, heck - even helmet or no helmet doesn't bother me all that much anymore; but, being cut off in the face of a group of four riders' blazing LED headlights, not so much as a wave of apology or a middle-finger of disdain accompanying it?  This is a clear indication, most likely, why I don't like who I am behind the wheel of a car... and I was letting myself slip into that vindictive, vigilante, ego-driven and maniacal revenge-glutton persona while on the bike.  Call it racer-rage or whatever... there was no way this guy was going to break free.  Not today, not like this, and not in my neighborhood... lest ANY of us wonder why that minivan, contractor pickup, or business-class sedan driver LOATHE cyclists so much, to witness such an example of the very root of the problem materialize right before me and not react?  Damn the engines, full-speed-ahead!  

Muscles firing with the flow of rage pulsing and turning pedals, I had his wheel in no-time, and settled in to allow him the consideration of his own shadow cast from my headlight beam mere feet from his rear tire.  Let's see what you got.  Juvenile, indeed; I didn't care.  Our speed pulsated up another mile-per-hour as we approached the traffic signal at 159th Street... which was red.  Instinctively, I slowed - and watched as my adversary refused to.  Our steel weapons paused above the Hall effect sensors just long enough to swap the opposing lights to yellow, he rolled through without breaking cadence an iota.  I followed on the green, and wound him back up into the glare of my LED beam whilst the road pitched upward and begged more.  The crescendo and the curve beyond, and my fitness gave way to my opponent's relentless escape.  

No, dude.... no.... 

Another gear, another dig into the pit of pain ... not warmed up, not in shape, not ready to lay it all on the line in the first three miles of a 214km ride, and to let this person put a gap on the road.  Did he even know I was there?  How could he not have?  Two miles now, staring at his own shadow - but never once had I found a twitch, a glance, any acknowledgement of my presence, perhaps he'd already cast his own actions, and me, aside.  On principle, I pushed, and pushed, and pushed to regain his wheel before the roundabout - where again, not even a marginally detectable sideways glance saw him enter and exit around the bend and back onto the southbound road.  Granted, no cars, no joggers... but, really?  Glancing backwards, I half-expected at least Gary to have been planted firmly on my rear quarter, enjoying the brisk pace, yet I'd ... we'd ... done the damage.  No headlight beams.  Nothing.  My shadowy counterpart lifted the pace once more only to be answered.

"Oh, I'm still back here buddy..."  I muttered to myself, collecting my breathing and doing my best not to let on the agony growing in my quads.  This was going to be yet another example of stupidity, surely, in only eight short hours - long after this guy would be wherever it was he was to be later that day, and this - all of this - forgotten.  For naught.  For what?

Before I knew it, 175th street and the next stop sign loomed ahead of us, and for once I watched as a face turned my way - only for a blink - and being on his left flank, there was no way he hadn't seen me, then.  With a twist, and a flick, suddenly his entire mass crossed the road in front of me in a calculated u-turn - mere feet between us, this time, I didn't pull the brakes at all.  I didn't care -- I became him, and I became ashamed of not being able to just let it slide.  Not even enough time to allow his face to be burned into my minds eye, he remained only a shadow with no name, no face, and no merit; his morning workout had reached its halfway, and - honestly - I had been bested, both metaphorically and physically.  Behind me, still no sign of my companions, his shadow blended with the dull gray of the pavement and the blackness of the predawn morning until he vanished like smoke.  

As I crossed carefully onto 175th street heading to points east, I never once lifted my pace.  I hadn't uncorked like I had that morning in years.  Screw the reserves, the worry, the potential for absolute slog-mode later in the day - I had to get the rest of the adrenaline - if that's what it was - out of my system or I'd spend the rest of the day grumpy.  With that, I broke a PR climbing the hill on Antioch, ate up 199th street, then Metcalf came... the bridge (with a sign announcing construction was to begin later that day)

um, wait... that's today...

Sunrise from somewhere along Metcalf near 223th St.

 ...and the cross streets fell like dominoes.  223rd...  247th...  279th... and the BP station, often a guaranteed stop on this route despite not being a control, which was no different today.  I paused for a moment or so, considered refilling one of my bottles and slugged it dry for good measure.  No sense getting dehydrated after that little fit.  No headlights... hmmm... The pause grew longer, but, I'd really no idea how far along they'd come, and any illusion of speed I'd thrown down was likely to be answered in much the same way it's been for the last few years, anyways:  feeling good, strong, and confident - only to turn around and find my pursuers still lingering within a half-mile of my tail, and usually there at a comfortable pace... not "pursuing" me at all.  Today, however, was different.  As I squinted north along the length of pavement I could see, I didn't even see automobile headlights approaching.  Bicycle lights often stand out far better under such circumstances, but there were none to be seen.  I clicked in and proceeded to pick up where I'd left off.  Cool down now, and the first nail would be in my coffin, surely.  

From the southern edge of Louisburg come the hills of old Metcalf leading into the undulating valley of Middle Creek and other various tributaries.  Past the giant pipeline installation, past the bridges with their pitted and tortured bumps and dips, to stand and climb and relish in the morning air.

Air?  What's that squishy feeling?  Ugh... there's no mistaking it.  The rear tire, having picked up who-knows-what, had gone soft.  Rolling carefully downhill, rear wheel unweighted as best I could, I took one more rise to get beyond 295th Street, where I'd remembered wider shoulders and a fairly new, and paved, driveway.  That was my preferred spot.  Bottles out, helmet off, pump, spare tube out of the saddlebag... no sense rushing, after all.  Happy as I was with myself and eager to try for more, the fact remained that I'd started the ride with good friends - and trying to go for a solo effort seemed... well, wrong.  But, if I'm honest, I'd really wanted to make it clear to La Cygne and the first control to wait out my efforts with some coffee and a donut.  This would do, I suppose.  Sweaty from effort, even my sunglasses felt as if they were keeping in too much heat as I flipped the bike and released the rear wheel to examine the tire.  

Ugh... mystery flat... "Hate" is too strong a word here, but that notion that there is potentially something else afoot besides a telltale tack, thorn or hunk of glass can sit on my head like a house-fly.  Sure, it only weighs a fraction of a gram - but, you can feel it, and it's annoying - and, that's assuming it doesn't decide to bite.  

Another swipe of the inside of the tire with my thumb yields nothing... maybe I just brushed it away already, or it fell out.  

As a matter of backstory, I was pushing my luck with that rear tire.  For years now, I've run the venerable (well, maybe among commuters and randonneurs) Panaracer Pasela TourGuard... now called the Pasela "PT" to designate a revamped approach to flat protection.  These tires have always been terrific, no complaints, and good for a solid 4,000 miles rotated front to back at roughly half that.  OF course, we all know that the dude gets bored and starts believing everything he reads, so I've recently (has it been a year?) switched to the Grand Bois 'Cerf' model; which is effectively the "same tire", insomuch that Panaracer produces it for Cycles Grand Bois and has their markings on the sidewalls - which are the trademark tan I've come to love.  The tread compound and casing differences aside (and elsewhere in these pages), the end result in my experience has been a smoother ride and - as they're about a full millimeter thicker than the Pasela's - longer lasting.   BUT.  
Keen to find out about HOW much longer lasting, again, I'd been pushing my luck with this one.  After 2,000 on the front wheel and having since been moved to the back, this tire was riddled with small cuts and holes where various things had entered and left the tire or otherwise chafed the rubber, so finding today's proved impossible.  With almost 6,000 miles logged (I'll have to look for the exact total), it was remarkable that I hadn't flatted sooner, as the 5mm of fresh tread had been slowly eaten down to about one.  Velodrome tires, anyone?  Yeesh.  

A quick over-inflate of the tire-less tube produced the tiniest of pinholes through which a gentle hiss of air escaped.  HA!  A quick patch from my fave Park Tool SuperPatch kit, and back into the tire and onto the waiting wheel.  

Pump Pump Pump Pump ... check pressure... repeat... wait, huh?   

The tire had seated, but little else - whatever hole I'd found and patched clearly wasn't the sole culprit here.  Grrrrrrrrr..... 

Off the rim, and out of the tire... did I miss it?  Crud, who cares?  New tube time!

Resorting to defeat and cursing my inner Poirot, I grabbed a fresh tube and called it "good enough", the flatted tube (already home to three patches before I'd begun, so maybe that was the problem?) deposited into the home-owner's rubbish bin at the end of their driveway-turned-service-shop.  

Right about then, the unmistakable clack of a pedal unclipping followed by another, as Gary and Josh arrived on the scene.  Beginning to wonder if they'd ever see me again that day, after what - to me - seemed like at least a five minute gap, smiles and relief came to my face.  As much as I'd liked to have turned the morning into my own time trial, the frustration of a flat is far easier to shake when one has company.  We all chatted, talked about the morning, cycling caps, and the promise of the day at hand.  Within a few minutes, Terry arrived as well and we were a group once more.  

...If only briefly.  It's a given, the impossibility of keeping a group of cyclists together on the road.  Each set in their own way, pace, mood, bicycle weight, climbing ability, all conspire to separate us.  It's a metaphor for life, as much of cycling is.  I won't bust out the doctoral stuff here... not today.

Terry had already pulled away while I kept at packing back up from the flat change, and half clipped in, Josh and Gary were itching to get back into action again.  Before I knew it, I was alone again - but not in the way as before.  Right after the driveway, a brief downhill and then the next climb began.  I caught back up by the time 311th street came into view and we made our way the remaining distance to La Cygne, and the new Casey's - which I hadn't visited since it'd been rebuilt - nice place!   As an added bonus, it's now on the east side of the railroad tracks, which really only matters on the way out.  

Josh, atop a new steel steed from the archives.  Celeste... need one say more?  Classic Bianchi, up to the task like it was made for it.  Gary on point at the helm of his new classic, setting a solid tempo as always.

Yeah it's the same photo, twice.  I know.  But, I had to address this.  Gary doesn't understand why everyone considers him "fast" when he starts to disappear off the front of the group during our rides.  Um, a look above the orange arrow, at left, might explain things.  He's a humble guy... but he can sure make a bicycle talk.  

Once again, the concept of the quick in-and-out control completely escapes us.  We loiter, consider things like the restroom, and enjoy our drinks and snacks with feet firmly planted underneath us.  Oh well...  this is probably the best part of the whole ride process, honestly - regroup, discuss, plan, laugh.

Terry rolls on early while the rest of us three finish our individual control voodoo and saddle back up.  Eventually we've turned onto one of my favorite county highways, Linn County 1055.  This meandering ribbon of pavement contains three challenging hills and a lot of great scenery, including an old schoolhouse and the site of a long-gone Kansas town.  Along the way, the conversation flows nicely as the miles pass effortlessly under our tires.  We revel in the high speed of the first long downhill, without any thoughts about needing to climb it later on.  I'd forgotten how much I enjoy this route, despite having ridden it so much over the years.  It had been long enough, though, that I'd forgotten about the hills and their length.... still, I ended up pleased with myself on both the outbound and inbound legs and the triple-threat of grunt-inducing climbs.

Gary and I stop briefly at Linn COunty highways 548 and 1055, soaking up the awesome weather, and making some slight adjustments before the final six miles to Pleasanton.

Being the halfway, an extended break at Pleasanton seemed like a great idea.  Sitting down in the miniature booths lined up along the front window we filled bottles and mouths with good stuff to fuel our return, and I enojyed a cheese-filled soft and hot pretzel rod.... which is probably going to be on the menu for me the next time I'm down this way.  WOW, what a flavor punch, and HOT... something I don't take near-enough advantage of, considering that nearly every c-store I've ever visited seems to have a microwave on site.  Man, if I can find (or pack) a couple of heat-n-eat sandwiches, dude, bet on it!

Fueled, packed and clipped in, we polished off the trip back in short order, playing speed-tuck on the first giant downhill; payback for the arduous climb up on the trip out.  We teased each other on our ability to let gravity do all the work, and for how long we could hold onto the rollout afterwards as we leveled out and ate up pavement at 23mph on flat ground.  The day was perfect... I can't recall temperatures, nor wind... that's all the qualification for perfect I require anymore.  If I don't notice the conditions after a few miles, yeah.... excellent day!  

We passed the time chatting about commuting, Josh being the latest to take up the torch having started only a couple weeks prior.  Baggy shorts, things to pack, things to leave at the office, etc.  While there are many randonneuring parallels, it certainly brings up some unique problems for everyone at some point or another.  I still highly recommend it, despite having been witness to some personally disturbing changes over the past few years.  

I suppose it is all relative to what one considers normal, which is always at risk of becoming defined strictly by the past.  The new normal involves smart-phones, and the coming principle that the smartness of one's phone tends to inversely affect the intelligence of its human user.  Mix this with the responsibilities of the average automobile operator, and, well - yeah, that whole overused (justifiably) buzzword plaguing the developed world these days.  One of these days, possibly in my lifetime, technology will catch up and help render the scourge of distracted driving a thing of the past.  Perhaps it is a generational problem, in much the same way that seat belts are still not compulsory for a large majority of Americans; the very existence of this problem I still can't quite grasp.  Hadn't we solved that one?  Anyhow, getting back to local concerns, and how I've watched traffic increase as the population outpace the roadway development needed to support it.  Yes, "normal" is simply the state of existence right at this particular moment in time; not the baseline past of any one individual.

 Trying to keep that in mind is one thing, commuting is probably no more dangerous than it had been the first time I rode to work out of necessity nearly two decades ago.  The state of today's concerns, however, are not the same.  More and more commuters are taking to recording their rides, often with two cameras.  Some motorists, armed with their device's cameras have sought out creative new ways to gain YouTube notoriety by physically assaulting cyclists in various ways from their cars.  Other drivers are so distracted, they likely don't even see most cyclists - until they accidentally strike one.

I have lost friends and fellow riders this way.  The myopic American consumer has demographically proved that petroleum availability and environmental responsibility are only popular topics when it affects ones cash flow, so ever larger SUVs and Pickup trucks have begun to pour back onto roadways nearly as fast as they can be built: when not so long ago, vehicles like the Hummer H2 had bore the brunt of so much criticism it'd been rendered almost worthless on the used market, and vehicles like the Nissan Leaf and Chevy Volt came from concept to road - and, as tends to happen, absolute power corrupts, no matter its form or scale.  Give 'em an inch, and their vehicle becomes an extension of ones own self-entitled ego.  Add a lift kit and large tires, and then place a cyclist in the flow of traffic with them.  It is - clearly - a point of frustration for any cyclist, and in some places like Australia (if the news is accurate) riding a bicycle tends to make one a target; sometimes in the literal sense.  It becomes tougher and tougher each year to proffer advice on commuting to work when I myself inch ever closer to admitting how ill-advised and risky it has become. 

BUT, I doubt I'll ever stop' and - in reality, and NOT in the paranoid overthought of my mind, commuting to work is no more dangerous than it was when I first started.  It is just different, and the dangers that are inherent in ANY outdoor activity on or near roadways still exist.  Is it worth the risks?  Yes.  Every time.

Josh, then, takes up the torch and disproves me, an ever-more-crotchety old man in the making:  I finally begin to see what H.G. Wells was on about, that despite all evidence to the contrary, someone younger than myself has chosen to take up bicycling - not only long distances, but as transportation.  I see this, and I, like Wells, no longer despair for the human race.  All is not lost.  In the same way fairness lapses the instant someone from the U.S. arrives in a part of the world not to their exact standards and declares it "primitive", I can't fairly judge the conditions of the present strictly by comparing them to my own past.  Billy Joel probably said it better:  "the good ole days weren't always good, and tomorrow's not as bad as it seems."  Keep the faith, dude.  Guys like Josh are evidence that we really ARE probably gonna be fine, and "the kids are (indeed) alright."

As the Casey's in La Cygne fell into the background again as our caravan made its way to the east and north once more, we once again spread out.  Gary, on a mission, began his characteristic advance up Jingo Rdrenaissancehe distance.  Terry had taken off as well, as far as I can remember - mentally, at this writing, I'd lost track of him, for, advancing onto US-69 for the quick three miles north, that funny feeling came back once more.  That squishy feeling.  Crap.

Once again, I quick peek down and back confirmed the rear tire had let go of its air once more.  

"geeez, not now..." I muttered half to myself.  While it likely would have been just fine, the thought of fixing a flat along the side of 69 highway and its 75mph traffic whizzing by didn't seem like a terrific idea.  I considered the ditch beyond the wide shoulder - and the ticks and such I'd likely endure from an extended, crouched-down visit.  Goody....   no, that's not going to work, either.  Enjoying a brief renaissance of speed, I'd pulled ahead of Josh, who then caught me as I slowed to a crawl while the ever flatter tire began to roll and mush along underneath the rim.  

"I'm waiting until I get off of here before I do anything."  I proclaimed as he passed by with concern in his voice.  Continuing on, I began to wonder how much more gambling I was willing to do with this tire, and I started remembering all of the talk about packing a spare tire and how little weight and space something takes up when you really, really need it.  Unfortunately, since this was "only" a 200k, yeah - I hadn't packed it.  Terrific, dude... just great.  Well, have at least four feet of duct tape, will travel.  Worst case, I can roll home on ANYthing... as much as I kick myself about not packing a spare, I remember Ort or Texas' successful finish on a destroyed tire that he patched up with duct tape, electrical tape, tenacity, and a sprinkle of hope and crossed fingers.  I got this.  

I sure as heck wasn't going to waste any time alongside this highway.  Tire flat, tube empty, and rim barely protected from the pavement by the mushy and lumpy mass of tube and tire bumping along underneath me.  This is where some of the bike handling skills I've absorbed from extra gravel miles seems to have come in handy - the bike wanting to dart all sorts of directions..., the tire rolling left and right, and skating each time I tried to change direction.  Finally reaching the top of the exit ramp at 335th street, I stopped and planted both feet.  Thank goodness that was over... time to change this dang tube again.  My only hope was that I hadn't utterly ruined the sidewalls with the two miles of run-flat.  

Old barn and buildings near 247th and Metcalf (IIRC)

Upon dismount, I looked up the road toward Metcalf and started eyeing the shoulders for some shade - when my eyes met with Josh's lone figure in the shade of a tall spruce tree.  Nice!  Fixing a flat is almost always a one-person job, but, morale support - right then - was appreciated on a scale I'm not sure Josh understood at the time.  Kicked back in the shade, relaxed as always, just taking in the day as I rolled up.

The tire had somehow remained in surprisingly good shape - so the panic was unwarranted; though, to be honest I'd not like to repeat that maneuver anytime soon.  Flatting on a busy road stinks.  New tube in place, and the number of spares dwindling, we packed up and headed in to Louisburg for the obligatory in-n-out control routine... which would still take the better part of 20 minutes.  It happens.  Sun high, humidity present - but not horrid - it was warm enough to give us reason for a pause in the shade...so we took it.  

With Gary long gone, and Terry slipping past us while we rested or hung around inside the c-store, we two hit the road again without knowing where we were in relation to the others.  The only bogey now was that potentially closed bridge near 207th street on the return leg.  Time passed, distance grew between Josh and I ; just pacing perhaps, but, I would soon come to miss his straight-forward approach to construction and detours.  Looking back, not seeing him at 223rd, nor at 215th, I figured I'd be on my own for this one - so, the detour I had in my head would have to do.  

Construction here over the last year or so has altered the way traffic deals with local railroad traffic if they plan to head east on 207th street.  Where in the past motorists would negotiate a level-crossing, the resulting traffic backing up onto Metcalf proved problematic at certain times of the day; especially when it involved an especially long train which had been instructed to stop before the nearby switch off the mainline.  To mitigate this, the level crossing had been removed, and a spur road reconnected 207th to the east by first crossing over the tracks on the bridge passing over them on Metcalf itself.  In my mind's eye I had envisioned this spur simply producing a longer waiting-pad for motorists, and the level crossing being moved a bit farther away from the main road above.  Of course, I had never before seen the results of the construction with my own eyes; so it was quite a surprise when I turned right onto 207th street just before the road closed signage signalling the bridge work to see it extending AWAY from the railroad tracks in the opposite direction and not crossing them at all.  Uhhhh.... huh?

Not terribly anxious to bother any construction workers with my nuisance of asking for a pass -- fully expecting the standard "if it says closed, it's closed" speech, to which they're absolutely entitled -- I neglected to retreat and instead looked to my left, found a quick pull-out and stared across the rails to examine my options.  The underbrush isn't that tall.  Hefting the bike, I crossed over the double tracks and shaky ballast to find the remains of the previous section of 207th still accessible, still leading up to Metcalf.  Back on course!   Little did I realize that Josh, definitely the bolder of us that day, had simply asked for permission and rode across the completely open and passable bridge, which was only undergoing joint filler replacement.  

Convinced I'd remain solo for the rest of the ride, I pedaled on toward 199th and made the turn west for the final 12 miles or so.  At that point I reached the gas station near the highway, against which leaned a familiar-looking machine... Terry's bike!

It was not catching someone that did it, it was the confirmation that everyone (as far as I knew anyhow) had made it past the bridge construction without any mishap.  Terry had indeed passed us back in Louisburg, but had started to feel zapped - he's usually not one to stop at a random gas station so close to the finish.  We chatted for a bit, and I was perfectly happy to hang out for a bit and just chill.  Our mistake came while waiting for Josh.

...and waiting...

...and waiting... 

I can't remember which one of us made the decision, but it was clear he had taken an alternate route or had been through dozens of minutes beforehand, unseen; so, we carried on.  Gary?  He was probably home and showered by then!

Along the road toward 199th street, another cyclist appeared on Antioch from the south - which also marked our turn north toward 175th street again.  Josh?  That was my first thought, but the silhouette and color of the bike weren't right - just another rider out enjoying the day.  As I turned, he crossed and followed - eventually catching up and passing me.  Despite my greetings, there were no words - which became an unofficial invitation for me to let him get up the road a bit before chasing him down again - repeat.  Training?  Maybe... I was happy to have had the legs to continue the same buffoonery that'd started the day, albeit decidedly more slowly in the afternoon.  We both descended the monster hill on Antioch, enjoyed a few moments north of 40mph, and then stopped for the traffic snarl that was 175th/179th streets near Antioch.  Ugh.

"Oh, how I hate this road..." I offered to my un-named fellow cyclist.  There was a mutter of agreement as we waited for an opening.

...and waited...

...and waited...

Good lord... 

While I don't like constantly touching and tweaking routes to meet the conditions of the day, this road may prove an exception eventually.  Similar to K-68 highway as it used to relate to some of the routes out to and through Ottawa, KS., 179th Street has been witness to dramatic traffic volume increases in the last two years.  The BNSF intermodal facility to the west in Gardner, the near-continuous home construction which has now crept into this part of the county, the traffic from the massive Blue Valley middle & high school complex, and the expected addition of retail and business developments - well, this isn't the quiet country byway it was even as recently as three years ago.  It's, frankly, nuts, and the discussion post-ride seemed to indicate I wasn't alone in this thinking.  I dunno.... will have to see.

Wrapping up ye olde 175th street time-trial Worlds, however, is still a treat.  It's a deceptively gentle climb but it never seems to quit gaining altitude - and, my companion on the road for a short while at Antioch - who had departed across the intersection prior to me - had become a target.  I just had to see, after the entirety of the day, if the spark remained alive somewhere down in my gut.  

Game on, I slowly ramped up the cadence and proceeded my attempt at reeling him back in.  By the time I'd reached Quivira, I had managed to close the gap enough to pick out the details on his bike - barely.  By Pflumm, I could start to better resolve his jersey details.  Right about here, the road pitches up again for a final bump to Lackman - I flagged a little, but then started to realize how little road I'd left remaining ahead of me.  If I was to catch this guy, I'd have to move soon.  All the while, he's got no idea I'm back here using him for motivation... but, I continue to treat him as the ever-out-of-reach adversary... Hinault to my LeMond...  There would be no photographs, no distractions, as I took another gulp from my remaining fluids, shifted back onto the big ring, and began to shove like I hadn't before... well, apart from that morning, of course.  The distance between us... 1/8th of a mile now, since I'd slipped off?  Who knows... too far.  Too far...   I banished the impossible, and pushed again.  Eating up the shoulder of 175th, dodging debris, hurling globs of bodily protest from my maw when the timing of my breath allowed it.  I'm sure I looked like a snarling dog chasing down a would-be thief, or perhaps a week-overdue dinner in the form of a rabbit or squirrel.  I sucked in air and spit it out again, 200 feet.... 150.... 125..... I could hear his chain at 75.... 50 feet..... 25 I felt like I could reach out and grab his wheel.... 20 feet.... dammit!   MurLen!!  I have to turn!!  

Forever slave to the cue sheet, I SHOULD have taken the time to continue the chance for another mile, JUST to have successfully pulled into his draft to say "hey, whassup?" as collectively as possible before peeling off again and finally gasping for recovery.  But, not today... time shortened, respite waited at the 7-Eleven... not on the wheel of an unknown cyclist headed who-knows-where.  The snarling dog, hearing its master's call, returns to the course without so much as a passing thought or attempt at reason.  Randonneuring is obedience, sometimes.

The final three miles saw my smile increase slowly -- what a remarkable day this had been!  Final box checked, final receipt gathered, I joined Josh in the shade of a large Oak in the abandoned parking lot of the shuttered grocery store across the street from our final control.  Cool breezes licking away the day's sweat, the soft ground easing any discomfort gathered along the way... 

This is living.  

Summer may have gone according to the calendar, but days like these?  These are the gifts that summer's long hard tasks had wrought.  These are the day when we randonneurs rise above the populous; the masses teeming in rivers of traffic, going everywhere and nowhere at once, bereft of the joy that 125+ miles of labor and toil somehow bring to the soul of those willing to accept sacrifice in the face of a society bent on ever-more indulgent laziness.  We are the last gasps of humanity, in my tiny mind's eye... not taskmasters or overlords - just quiet rebels enjoying the fruits of a tree that grows out of sight of the rest of the world, tucked between two crowded buildings and hidden from view by the glare of smart-device screens and the distraction of honking horns and waving fists.  

Who knows how many countless hundreds endlessly passed along the road just meters behind our reclined bodies as we sat under that shade tree; but I wonder more of the small number of eyes who'd seen us... not as cyclists, not as humans strangely-dressed and perpetually "in the way;" but who'd seen what we are, and who'd felt a twinge of envy and desire, a twinkle of understanding.  They'd give a quiet head nod to the scene because they somehow know, and know better, and dare to question and wonder their place beyond the shoreline of the road that traps them.  Get them a bike.  Let them see.  Let them talk, and dream of a time when these rivers run dry and we all sit and revel in the places our simpler machines take us - physically and spiritually.  Let those times come.  Sit with us, covered in salt and grime, and take a long, slow pull from a tall, cold beer.  Pause and absorb these slow moments, and slow down these times with us.  The times when the season is always "summertime", and where the livin' is oh, so easy.

Cheers.